Imagine he woke up in a strange unfamiliar place. He woke up with a recollection of his mother's life work -- to help the gods -- and then the destructive consequences, the betrayal of this devotion convalescing in the death and destruction of an entire advanced, thriving, ingenue civilization that rivaled even the Gods. The last clear memory he had as the world around him goes up in flames is of the Matron, this god of death in a white mask, who whisked him away from inevitable demise but only after the information had been bestowed in his mind, knowledge of a way to destroy the gods. It had to be a joke. That the Goddess of death itself, a woman once mortal ascendent to Godhood, would bestow upon him the grace of knowing that mortals could bring about the end of the gods but only if they could reach a height all but possible but-for the Gods fear and interference. But, she knew. She had to see that he had this information before she took him away. And so that boy grew and he aged and he learned. He placed on his followers the symbol of the woman, the God, who had granted him this curse of life and knowledge. Perhaps both in reverence and as his own form of mockery for the infinite she pretended to be in the face of all he knew. Then, he took her follower -- a man who loved a woman in such a clear expression of his mortality through his divine stature -- and he placed him in a cage on the grandest of stages for her to see. The Gods were Gods because they put limits on man, not because man could not reach them or because they were so knowledgable that the essence of mortality, of life and emotion, could not penetrate them. She had proven that when she saved him.
kianamaiart
germansingergirl
theartofmadeline
blakekathryn
